As Far As You Can

inally,” said Gaz.

For days now, Caerhaven had been little more than a vague promise somewhere ahead of them. Before today, its distant walls had appeared and vanished with every fold of the land. Now scarcely a few hundred yards remained between the companions and its gates, and what had seemed merely large from afar now stood before them with the breadth and weight of a kingdom.

High grey walls stretched across the rise, weathered but formidable, enclosing a sprawling city dense with rooftops, towers, courtyards, and narrow streets beneath the smoke of hundreds of chimneys. North, beyond them all, a castle climbed the heights, its spires overlooking Caerhaven while green banners stirred along the battlements beneath the paling sky.

But east of the castle, within the walls themselves, stone gave way to something stranger.

A vast canopy of living trees covered nearly an entire quarter of the city. They almost seemed to breathe life directly into the surrounding kingdom itself. Branches spread above roofs and old walls, and from their midst rose a single ancient tree whose crown towered over the surrounding buildings and lesser towers. Even from the road, it seemed a city the forest had been obliged to grow around.

“Pretty,” said Lunara.

Jaeshu pulled the pipe from his mouth. “That’s slightly understating it.”

At the foot of the city walls, where the wandering roads from the hills beyond gathered together, its heavy gates stood open.

Wagons waited upon the final approach, passing slowly beneath the arch while guards counted people and possessions. Families rested in the grass beside carts and bundles, gathering themselves for the last short distance. So many had traveled by caravan that wheels and weary feet had worn several paths through the grass beside the road.

Navian took a breath and looked down.

Av’elyth rested against him, wrapped beneath blankets and blood-darkened bandages. Her head lay near his shoulder, black hair shifting faintly with each weary step of the horse. Every few minutes he found himself listening beneath hoofbeats, voices, and wind for the quiet passage of her breath.

A burst of laughter came from the grass beside the road.

Several children had made a battlefield there. Crooked sticks struck together as the children charged through the weeds, human and elf alike tearing across the grass while two young felina wove between them, quick-footed and bright-eyed, their tails streaming behind. One boy commanded from atop a flat stone while the others died with tremendous enthusiasm. They remained solemnly dead for perhaps two heartbeats, then sprang up and returned to the war.

Oesora slowed beside the mare, watching them rise laughing from the grass.

“Children should not know that game,” she said quietly.

Navian slowed the horse to a stop and straightened toward the children.

“You there.”

The battle ended. Five faces turned toward the man on horseback.

For a moment none of them moved. Then the smallest boy’s eyes travelled from Navian’s white cloak to the sword at his side, widening farther with every inch.

“You’re a paladin!”

Navian glanced down at himself as though the possibility deserved consideration, then back to the child.

“And you must be a knight.”

The boy grinned.

Navian beckoned him nearer, and whatever caution remained disappeared beneath curiosity. The boy came first, though the other children quickly followed until they stood in a loose half-circle around the mare. Navian leaned slightly toward them so they did not have to crane their necks beneath the height of him and his armor.

“You know Caerhaven?”

The boy nodded at once. “All of it.”

“He does not!” The elven girl frowned. The boy turned toward her in outrage.

Navian hid the beginning of a smile. “Knowing most of it will do.” He nodded toward the vast trees beyond the wall. “The druids. Are they in there?”

“In the Rushing Grove,” the felina girl said. “My mam took my brother there once.”

“You know how to find them? Send a message for me?”

This time every head nodded.

Navian looked down at Av’elyth. When he turned back, the amusement had left his voice, though not its gentleness.

“Now, I need someone fast.”

All five children straightened. Navian reached beneath his cloak and counted five pieces into his palm.

“How does five coin sound if you reach the druids before we reach the grove?”

The smallest boy stared. “Five?”

“Five.”

“For running?”

“For running very quickly.”

That was enough to awaken a fierce dispute over which of them was plainly the swiftest child ever born in Caerhaven. Navian allowed it for several seconds before lifting one hand.

Silence returned.

“This is a quest for only the bravest of you: Tell the druids there is an elf here badly wounded. Tell them a priestess has kept her alive as long as she can, and that we are almost at the gate.”

The boy closed both hands around the coins.

Navian nodded with perfect seriousness. “Make haste. I’m counting on you.”

“We’ll tell them!”

The boy took off without warning. The others followed, wooden swords forgotten at their sides as they tore up the last stretch of road, still arguing between breaths over who was winning until the great arch swallowed them.

Navian gathered the reins. When he looked beside him, Oesora was watching.

There was something softer in her expression than there had been a moment before.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

She smiled and turned toward Caerhaven.

Navian watched her for another moment, unconvinced, then urged the mare onward.

When they arrived at the gate, the guards took one look at the unconscious elf in Navian’s arms and stepped aside. The company passed beneath the enormous stone arch without slowing, and for the first time the walls of Caerhaven closed around them.

The children were already long out of sight. Navian kept Lilly moving as quickly as the crowded streets allowed, but wagons and foot traffic slowed their progress. They had crossed several streets before figures in autumn-woven cloaks appeared ahead, moving quickly to meet them.

Several druids approached, wrapped in cloaks woven through with autumn leaves, small orbs of swirling blue resting at their throats. Golden scripture wound across the fabric in intricate lines, its meaning lost to any stranger who looked upon it, though the care of its stitching spoke of reverence.

Their quiet regality tugging at an old instinct, Karneth bowed without thinking.

Their eyes went immediately to the elf.

At their head stood a woman with long dark hair falling well past her shoulders, her robes layered in deep greens and weathered earth tones. Gold and leafwork traced the edges of the cloth, yet on her even the finest embroidery seemed less stitched than grown. Bright pink flowers bloomed among the trailing leaves at her ankles, vivid against the darker fabric.

The staff in her hand seemed less carved than grown. A living vine wound around twisted wood toward a green stone set near its crown, where a quiet light rested within. She stood with the easy stillness of someone accustomed to being listened to, and the druids around her seemed almost to settle into her silence.

One of them spoke quietly behind her.

“Elder, this is the elf the children spoke of.”

Juna, Elder Druid of the Rushing Grove, stepped toward the mare.

“Let us see her.”

Navian dismounted.

Two druids had already unfolded a woven litter nearby. Elder Juna moved beside it but did not reach for Av’elyth. She simply waited.

Navian had carried the rogue so far that yielding her felt stranger than taking her up.

He slipped one arm beneath her shoulders and the other beneath her knees, lifting her carefully from the saddle. As he lowered her toward the waiting hands, she seemed almost weightless. Somewhere along the road, his body had forgotten what it was to stand without her.

The druids received Av’elyth with practiced care. One cradled her head while another eased her legs onto the litter. Her face tightened faintly as they settled her, no more than the passing shadow of pain, but she made no sound and did not wake.

Navian’s hand remained beneath her shoulder until there was no longer any reason for it to be there, and only then did he let go.

Juna knelt beside the litter and drew back enough of the blanket to expose the stained wrappings beneath. Her fingers moved lightly along Av’elyth’s side, then passed over the bandages without disturbing them.

“What did this?”

“Goblins,” Gaz said. “And Shadowhounds.”

Juna looked up. “From where?”

Karneth tipped his head northward. “Near Blue Brea Woods.”

Her hands stilled. “The Blue Brea?”

Oesora nodded.

Juna looked down at Av’elyth again. “Those woods are days from here by a raven’s pace. How long ago?”

Jaeshu lowered his eyes, counting backward through the road. “Several nights and most of a day.”

For the first time, something in Juna’s composure gave way. She loosened part of the wrapping and examined the wound beneath.

“A goblin wound begins turning the blood before a night has passed. What a Shadowhound leaves behind is worse.”

Her gaze rose to Oesora.

“She should not have survived this long.”

Oesora looked down at Av’elyth. “I kept what I could closed. But we had help. A tincture made from crushed blooms of Calder Papos.”

Juna stared at her. “Those blooms grow upon Iast’Ogan. How did you come by something so rare this far from—”

She stopped. Her gaze moved to Lunara.

A faint smile touched her face.

“Ah.”

Lunara raised her eyebrows.

Juna looked directly at her.

“Pedro.”

Lunara’s expression changed.

Juna turned back to Av’elyth. “Bring the elf inside the grove.”

A nearby guard gestured for Lilly's reins and Gaz handed them to him. He promised the wizard she would be in the stable when they return, as the druids gently lifted the litter carrying Av’elyth.

They moved quickly through streets crowded with carts, merchants, and afternoon foot traffic, the druids parting the flow ahead of them without a word. Faces turned as they passed, first toward the wounded elf and then toward the armored paladin following close behind, but the company barely noticed. With each street the stone buildings thinned, patches of green appeared between them, and roots began to rise through the earth beneath their feet.

The nearer they came to the Rushing Grove, the more Caerhaven yielded to green. With every turn around a massive root, the sounds of the city faded until voices, carts, and evening bells seemed to belong to some place far behind them. The air changed with them, losing the dry scents of dust and commerce and giving way to something richer—cool earth, leaves, and growing things. Even the moss carried a faint sweetness. Small creatures stirred overhead, hopping from branch to branch as they followed the company deeper into the green.

The path climbed gradually as it wound deeper into the grove, the streets of Caerhaven falling lower behind them.

The entrance to the grove center itself stood beneath the same immense tree they had seen from beyond the walls, though now it seemed even twice as large up close. A short flight of worn stone steps rose toward the opening in the ancient trunk.

It housed no gate any of them had ever seen: A broad opening vanished into the ancient trunk, its edges nearly consumed by moss, vine, and root. Beside it stood a single circular slab of stone, upright upon its edge like an enormous coin. Nearly three men high and impossibly thick, it looked less like something built to close an entrance than something the earth itself had set there.

And inside, beyond the maw, waited green, glittering ribbons of light.

Moving with gliding serenity, the druids carried the wounded elf up the steps and beneath the tree.

“Elder.” Navian reached out. “Can you save her?”

Juna lingered beneath the arch for a moment, bright pink flowers stirring faintly around her ankles as she turned toward the others.

“From here, she is in the keeping of the Grove. You have borne her as far as you can.”

With gentle command, she lifted her staff and continued into the grove, the blossoms at her ankles disappearing one by one until the green shadow beneath the ancient tree gathered her from sight.

Instinctively, Navian followed her, the others close behind.

The earth answered before they had taken more than a step.

Damp soil shifted and broke beneath their feet. Roots slipped quietly through moss and between the crooked stones, uncurling from the ground with slow, deliberate grace until they wove themselves across the path. They rose no higher than the knee, yet there was something unmistakable in the way they settled there.

The group stopped.

For a moment, no one spoke.

One last druid remained outside, a mantle of autumn leaves draped across his shoulders. He regarded them for a moment, then gave a small, almost apologetic shake of his head before stepping beneath the arch.

Behind him, the vines drew taut around the great circular stone.

A deep groan passed through the earth.

Then the seal began to move.

“Wait!”

Lunara hurried up the remaining steps as the stone rolled across the entrance. The moment she reached the rolling stone, she pressed her fingertips against its weathered surface. The emerald light beyond thinned to a narrow seam. And for one last moment, Av’elyth remained visible between stone and shadow.

Then she was gone.

The great slab settled at last into its appointed place, and a low rumble passed through the earth beneath their feet, as though the very roots of the world had shifted. For a moment the breeze changed, drawing softly upward, and then the massive tree awoke.

Deep beneath bark and ancient stone, an enormous heart of elder days began to beat. Its glow swelled, brighter and brighter, warm green light climbing up the mighty branches, while glittering strands rose with the leaves, spiraling high into the evening sky.

The company watched in silent awe.

Then, gradually, the breeze stilled once more, and only the slow and brilliant pulse of emerald remained, casting its living radiance over the surrounding city.

Lunara looked up and kept her hand against the stone for another moment.

She sighed, then turned.

Oesora glanced down at the roots stretched across the path. “I think... only druids are meant to go farther, Lunara.”

The archer walked back down the steps. “How did she know about Pedro?”

The others looked at one another.

No one knew. All that remained was a strange silence and a breeze.

Ever since the cave in Blue Brea, every dawn and mile had bent toward this place.

Reach Caerhaven. Find the druids. Keep Av’elyth alive.

Together, they all turned toward the city. Caerhaven stretched away beneath them, vast and indifferent. Carts creaked over distant streets. Merchants shuttered their stalls for the night. Guards changed watch along the walls while evening smoke gathered above thousands of roofs. Here, they were no one.

Karneth scratched at his beard.

“So…” the dwarf said, looking out over the city spread beneath them.

“What now?”